My brother recently sent me a couple of pictures that I thought I'd show ya'll.
This is the house where I grew up.
I loved the house, with plenty of room to roam both inside and out. It was built in the 1860's, had wide plank oak floors, 10 foot tall ceilings, and was freezing in our bedrooms in the winter.
The things we did back then.
- Swimming in the creek while wearing tennis shoes 'cause the mud was too icky for barefeet (and checking our legs later for leeches).
- Running up and down the old pig pen roofs--sometimes sliding on them.
- Walking out onto the barn roof while the men were working on it.
- Going barefoot all summer (except in the creek).
- Catching fireflies at dusk and putting them into a jar.
- Peeling off layers and layers and layers of old wallpaper, only to find that we had to redo the plaster anyway. (There was some absolutely hideous wallpaper.)
- Finding a cat and her kittens up on the rafters in the barn.
Here's a view from our house up the road to our neighbor's. We had to walk this road every day to catch the bus. For the most part, I would carry a couple of books (no backpacks for me), my purse, my flute, my lunch, and sometimes my gymbag. At the dark blob in the middle (pine trees), the road turns and you couldn't see the bus until you got to the next turn. I'd be running late, so would be running with all my stuff until the next turn.
People say that I live in the country now....and I say....not compared to where I grew up.